Chapter 3 Passing Strangers and Sharing Pain

Charlotte ultimately took her documents, shut down her computer, and entered the dismal hallway on the twelfth level at about 9:45 p.m. Her heels reverberated on the marble floor as she neared the elevator, her body aching with exhaustion. The job had closed hours before, but she had stayed late to make a great impression. She just had first impressions,no connections, no huge name, just grit.

The elevator chimed. She stepped in with a sigh, grateful for the silence. As the doors began to close, a booted foot slid between them. The sensors stopped, reversed, and the doors reopened.

The janitor walked in. Or so she assumed. He wore ragged navy coveralls, gloves tucked into one pocket, and carried a mop in one hand. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and surprisingly clean-shaven for a night shift worker. His scent, a faint blend of cedar and something smoky, lingered lightly.

"Sorry," he muttered, pressing the button for the lowest level.

Charlotte bowed properly and backed into the furthest corner. The elevator continued to descend.

However, it did not survive long.

The elevator jerked violently, the lights flickered and came to a sudden stop with a dreadful groan.

Charlotte clutched the side railing. "What the hell?"

"Power surge?" the janitor said, pressing the emergency button. "We have been stuck."

"Excellent," Charlotte replied, caressing her forehead. "lovely end to a lovely day."

He gazed at her. "Rough one?"

She sighed and slumped against the wall. You may say that. My intern supervisor hates me, my feet ache, and I have to walk four blocks to the train station in the cold. So, yeah, good day."

He chuckled. "I have endured worse."

She gave him a strange glance. "You do not look like a complainer."

He shrugged. "Does not have any effect, right?"

She nodded slowly, dropped to the floor, and extended her legs. "We may as well get comfortable."

He followed suit, sitting across from her with his legs bent and his arms resting on his knees. His features popped out more in the fluorescent half-light-chiselled jaw, piercing grey eyes, and fatigue that went beyond weariness.

"I am Charlotte," she said.

He paused, then nodded. "Barron."

She tilted her head. "Are you new here?" "I had not seen you before."

"It began recently. Nights only."

She hesitated. "I thought the janitors had access to the building's systems. Can not you do something?"

He smiled. Contrary to popular belief, I am not Batman. "We wait."

She laughed softly. Even though the situation was terrible, it felt incredible. "I appreciate your honesty."

Minutes passed quietly, disturbed only by the occasional moan of the elevator cables. Charlotte looked down at the floor, fumbling with the zipper of her purse.

"You indicated your day was awful," Barron began, his tone softening. "What is happened?"

She sighed, wondering why she felt comfortable enough to answer. Perhaps he wasn't trying to fix her. Maybe he asked without any expectation.

"I have tried so hard to stay afloat," she said softly. "I am raising a kid alone, working, interning here, and looking for a chance. And I still feel like I am barely breathing most days."

Barron nodded. "How old is your child?

"Five, Maya "She is wonderful."

Her voice was filled with pride. Hope, too, although tempered by tiredness.

"I was 19 when I had him. His father departed as soon as I informed him. I moved in with my mother for a while, but she died last year. Since then, it has just been me and maya."

Barron was quiet. Her voice had only cracked once, but the rawness persisted.

"I sorry," he said. "That is a lot for anybody!"

Charlotte gave him a slight smile. "Yes, well. I am used to it. "Crying does not pay rent."

His gaze stayed fixed on her for a moment. Then he leaned back against the wall and spoke again.

"I, too, have lost someone."

She looked up in wonder.

My fiancee. Flair. An automobile accident happened two years ago. "Drunk driver."

Her breath caught. "I genuinely apologize."

He nodded slowly. "She embodied everything. Kind, smart, and full of vitality. We were shopping for wedding venues one week, and I was identifying her body the next."

Charlotte placed a hand over her lips. "I can not imagine being in that kind of agony.

Barron's sight travelled far away. "I could not work for a few months. I did not eat. Just existed. Then I became involved in my company's success."If I could not be happy, I could still be productive."

Charlotte placed her head on the cold elevator wall. "Is not this strange?" How can individuals endure these hidden burdens?"Everyone sees the surface, but underneath..."

"We are all bleeding," he said.

They sat there, two strangers bound together by a sorrow neither could adequately articulate.

"I still talk to her periodically," he stated. "My brain." When I'm alone, this is why I work at night. She is getting closer.

Charlotte's eyes were glistening, but she refused to look away. "I also communicate with my mother while I am cooking. She taught me how to make everything from scratch. I can still hear her voice while I prepare the sauce.

He smiled faintly. "She sounded like a good mom."

"She was the best!"

The elevator buzzed, and the lights flashed again. Then, it moved quietly.

Charlotte blinked. "Oh. "I suppose we are free."

The doors to the lobby slid open.

Initially, neither moved.

"Thank you," she replied softly, rising to her feet.

He stood, too. "For what?"

"For not acting as if I were defective."

Barron looked into her eyes. "You are not. "You are just... human."Like the rest of us."

She hesitated. "Will I see you again?"

He flashed a little smile. "This building only has so many elevators. I am sure we shall cross paths.

She smiled back, got outside, and walked into the darkness.

Barron stood alone in the elevator. Something inside him stirred-something he thought had died with Flair. Perhaps pain was more than just a wound. Perhaps there was a bridge.

And tonight, a stranger helped him cross it.